


Pretend that You Love Me

by i_write_for_my_friends



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, I just..really like writing lovesick ryoma...I am sorry, Unrequited Love, except one of those friends wants even more, inspired by Lovefool - The Cardigans, might continue who even knows, this is a mess and i apologize
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_write_for_my_friends/pseuds/i_write_for_my_friends
Summary: He had to tell her that it needed to finally end, but things were way easier said than done.





	

It was inevitable that the illusion would fade forever. Each day and long night that passed drew it closer to its end, its utter defeat; but he still let his passion drive him to want and eagerly need more. To see her with her hair down; smile creasing her lips, an image that spun him enough to go on pretending that it was real. In worst cases he accepted that what they had was merely an agreement, but he went on living as if it weren’t. Feelings weren’t supposed to be added into the mix.

 _God,_ he wished he didn't allow feelings to be added into the mix.

“Damn,” shaky, sharp breaths tossed out the usual assertion in her voice, rendering her speechless as she fumbled to find her sarcasm. Eyes of dulled copper looked at hers of citrine far too long; though arms that vined her back, effectively clutching her in place was still a scene that was too bone-chilling for her to bear. “you really get into it with Lovefool,”

His broken and ragged laughter poked and pinched his overworked lungs, and she hadn’t seen the effort put into forcing a positive response to her chafing yet unintentional wit. “So it’s out: I’m a fan of an overrated and girly 90s song.” Before the air between them turned thin, Ryoma slapped his stereo off, releasing Oboro from his grasp as he rolled off of her with one last sigh. The pair shifted their focus onto his ceiling, the smaller girl held her end of his sheets to shield her modesty.

“I’m not surprised anymore. I stopped believing you had taste for anything after you named at least nine shitty eastern movies you couldn't live without. Plus, your weird thing for lobsters.” The final insult was the backlight of her phone flickering on as soon as she slipped him her poison.

“Those were all _wonderful_ movies that were received very well! You told me that you’ve never even watched half of them!”

The shit-eating grin illuminated by her tiny phone only left Ryoma feeling more defeated than he would’ve if he’d just kept his mouth closed, and he laid back down at her side, gulping at the mistake he’d just made. “Do I really need to watch _Shirasagi Shurikens_ to know that it belongs in the trash?” After a snort, her device was put away once she’d checked her notifications, and her friend dreadfully anticipated her absence, since she then would normally collect her outfit, sometimes throwing it on backwards or inside-out and leave without a goodbye. This time she was anchored in her spot on his mattress, and the older griped silently for this blessing in the form of a curse.

“How are things going? Any progress?” This game always proved to be a challenge: If he didn’t ask, she would notice, and know immediately that something wasn’t sitting right, and when he did, he had no other choice than to be supportive of what she wanted. What she wanted wasn’t him, and he had to go on knowing she didn’t need him.

“Oh, nah, it’s been pretty slow,” keeping his gaze steadily on her, he asked himself if he could grow accustomed to waking up next to her naked and still glamorous, but he shooed the thought away with a hard blink. “but, I think my chances are good…” A pause separated them, creating a rift even though he could feel her shoulder at the side of his. The heat from her contact gave him cravings to touch her again, causing him to grimace from withdrawal. “But what about you and that chick? You still haven’t told me her name.”

“Huh?” Looking at him expectantly, she had rotated onto her side while he was fighting temptations. With teeth clamped down on his tongue, a deceitful but believable truth was forged in seconds. “Oh, _her._ Our personalities sort of clashed, so she turned out to be just a fling.” Though wealth and power, coupled with his better-than-average looks and limitless charm gave him nearly any desirable woman he could dream up, he used his resources sparingly; never wanting anything more to do with anyone besides the one currently beside him. He had his fun when he was younger, but now he was ready to commit.

“Christ, is every woman a fling to you?” Oboro’s wit hit a little closer and harder to home than she’d planned it to once again, but this time the pain manifested itself as cinder blocks being dropped onto his chest. To muster a reply, he rolled until he faced his wall, counting the number of times they’d met when he came _too_ close to kissing her too long, or _too_ impatient to tear at her clothes, or _too_ affectionate when he called out her name. Somewhere between these checks he’d quietly prayed she could sense his restrain, and even give him the incentive to love her as intensely as he discreetly pleaded.

“No.”

Nothing. He awaited the sound of blankets ruffling, feet padding over to his door, then the long empty silence. A person without strings attached could escape any bedroom with flair, no matter if the space was pitch-black and foreign to them. “Right. I _so_ buy that.”

“Well, I’m being honest this time, so sorry, I guess.”

To avoid saying anything else that would make him even more vulnerable, his thoughts drifted to their original and primitively simple reasons for meeting up overnight. He figured having fun with a good-looking girl without the pressures and responsibilities of a partnership was an easy relief from his high-stress life, and he was also the next best thing to any girl’s dream crush, as he was their brother. He thought back on the awkward trial-and-error nights they spent not exactly hitting it for the other, asking one to move just a little, or to slow down a pace. The squeal and giggles from her when he’d discovered what she then explained to him was a ticklish spot humiliated him, nearly crushing his resolve by embarrassment in the odd change of mood. Once he’d learned every minute detail that could really set her off, he remembered the satisfaction and pride that didn’t leave him for weeks to come. He reveled in how quickly unraveled he could make her just by trailing his mouth over her body and that realization led him to conclude that he made a fatal error: For him, having sex with her wasn’t just about having sex with her anymore.

“I didn’t mean it like that,”

Hearing a chalky apology from her had him instinctively suck in air because he had no business at all getting pissy and moody over her sardonic humor, let alone even get her between the sheets. She seemed to pay no mind to the fact that he was related to whom she wanted a romantic relationship with, but the chance that he was doing more than taking advantage of an already sloppy situation attacked him when he was free to think. An obscure thought of her in the future giving birth to a child that was genetically his, but so _frighteningly_ similar to her future lover and his brother rused everyone into never doubting that it belonged to its uncle. Another few hard blinks in succession erased the mental picture he hoped to never recall.

It had to stop. It had to stop before either suggested it to the other, but they were too stupid (or rather he was,) and too rash to give it serious consideration. Even as he dreamed of her being available to him physically, it couldn’t continue since he grew sensitive and attuned to her. His desire for any form of companionship was dead because he found everything he wanted in her, and seeing other women gave him a metallic and unpleasant taste in his mouth on each and every single date afterwards. He had to tell her that it needed to finally end, but things were way easier said than done.

“Sorry, I know. Stressful day again.”

Oboro knew when he spoke with evasion. It was when he apologized and they sounded forced, and couldn't face her when he answered her. She only began to see this pattern a few nights ago and it made her question what it was he hid from her. The distance he recently created shook her as strange, though she rationalized it as being circumstantial, since they agreed that no investments emotionally should ever be designed. Most likely, she was only a friend to him that a thought of her never passed his mind the instant she left.

“I get it. If all of your dates just don’t work out for you, then maybe you should just let go of it, and tell everybody who’s at your throat about it to fuck off. Maybe you’re just not suited for long-term, real things.”

Her unbiased and helpful opinion was like barbed wire clenching and coiling around his heart. Her educated assumption was the most ironic thing he’d heard in his life, and he whipped himself almost violently so onto his side facing her. “That is so not true,” his disbelieving laughter was so pathetic, so _forced_ , had it not been a reflexive reaction, and her black brows knitted over her bright orange eyes in a starkingly beautiful contrast.

“You get more confusing each time I see you.”

“You should probably go soon. It’s getting late.”

The coldness in his hint had her burying her shoulders under his blankets, and she waited for him to say something new that clarified what he’d just said. It was so unlike him to close himself up, and she didn’t understand his reserved attitude. “Um...okay, I was going to, but I thought you’d want to talk about whatever it is that’s clearly bothering you.”

God, all he wanted to do was kiss her while she still wore her curious expression without any consequences. He wanted to gently entice her to stay in bed with him as his hand went through her hair; to know the feeling of her body easing into his before she fell asleep, to have her only movement be the rise and fall of relaxed breaths. He knew he could handle any harsh obstacle life would throw at him if she slept by his side every night, instead of only offering it her warmth for a few cherished moments. He knew her heart didn’t belong to him.

“I’m not...I’m not ready to talk about it, yet. Maybe by next time, I will be.”

After a gaze that went on far too long for him to remain comfortable, the woman pulled one side of her lips into a smirk and she patted his chest. “Sure,” the unexpected contact rushed blood to his cheeks and for once he was thankful that it was difficult to see anything in his spacious room when the lights were out. He could make out her figure bending from her side to grab her pile of clothes, and with her punctual gift, everything was back on her in less than a minute. Digging her free hand into the pockets of her borrowed hoodie, she swiped at her phone one last time before shoving it into her bra so she could attempt to fix her messy hair. “I’ll text you later, Romeo.”

With an offended scoff, she managed to get him while his guard was lowered again. _“Seriously_ stop calling me that,”

“Come on. The names sound so similar and Romeo was a whiny rich kid that moped over girls. That’s just too much for it to be a coincidence.” Oboro had a point, and that point scared him when he dwelled on it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that Takumi was actually planning to come home earlier tonight.”

The once smug eyes grew twice their size, giving her a look of doom and urgency. _"_ _Shit_ - _”_ After a pocket check and her keys were heard dancing against loose change, she threw her weight onto his door, closing it behind her and he listened to her steps thrumming down his staircase until they were too far away. He shook his head with a long sigh, running fingers wearily through the front of his voluminous mane, debating whether he should tell her it was a lie.

This part of his night was always the quietest, and he was beginning to shun the dead air. It was stiff and constricting though the lack of her presence ought to have given it enough space so he wouldn’t feel so claustrophobic. He never realized how hollow his room actually was until he started to briefly share it with her.

But what they had was perfect, and he knew had had no room to complain; but the idea of his brother who was _younger_ than him bedding the same woman he had just now, the same woman that accidentally stole his heart when he’d foolishly let his guard down, repulsed him. It left a feeling so bitter and sour and spoiled _rotten_ brewing inside of him, so horrid that he could hardly stomach himself anymore. What they had changed who he was, and it made him hate that side of him.

And that was why he knew it had to end, and he knew he had to tell her. It wasn’t fair to her, and he wasn’t allowed to let the unbearable pain from his screwup alter the truth. He never took his eyes off of his ceiling, successfully tallying off another night in his streak that he couldn't fall asleep after seeing her.

All the same, he just wished she could pretend to love him.

**Author's Note:**

> um i _might_ continue this but? i don't know?? maybe???


End file.
